


He dated a Leo once

by allforfruit



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Post-Uncharted 4, past Nathan Drake/Original Female Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allforfruit/pseuds/allforfruit
Summary: When Nate and Elena offered up their house in their absence, Zoé jumped at the chance. Then Sam showed up.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It got away from me, but it first started as a little idea inspired by Nate's comment in Uncharted 4's clock tower, 'I dated a Leo once'.

\-- Prologue --

 

‘So, what, you just went for a swim, and there it was?’

It’s always the same little smile, playing on Sam’s lips. That annoying rictus.

In truth, Elena came to love that damn smile, as she came to love Nate’s brother. She never really blamed him for the Libertalia debacle, he was merely the catalyst who exposed the cracks in her marriage with Nate. But he has a way of belittling their life choices, even if it’s always just a joke. As everything always is with him. Part of his charm. Part of her annoyance.

Tonight though, gathered in a little bar along the Melaka river, Nate and Elena drink to the success of the once called “Malaysian job” and Sam’s words only sound like they maybe always meant to sound: the quips of a smartass.

‘If by _went for a swim_ you mean weeks of preparations, precise diving and careful hauling, then yeah, we just went for a swim,’ Nate smiles. In his eyes, the same pride Elena feels. They share a look, and the happy silence that passes between them is filled with what this achievement means for them, and for History.

‘You’re living the dream!’ Sam grins, and Elena’s not even sure he’s sarcastic anymore.

‘Not stealing another culture’s legacy sure doesn’t seem to be your dream,’ Zoé retorts, suddenly cutting through Sam’s smile.

He didn’t expect that. Doesn’t have a witty come back. He just stares at her, stunned.

Nobody expected that, nobody really knows Zoé. An old friend of Nate’s, she arrived from Singapore this afternoon and has barely spoken since. She listened to their anecdotes, often smiled, and mostly gazed at the water.

Even Zoé didn’t expect that, she looks as though the thought crossed her lips against her will, she looks almost as stunned as the rest of them. But there wasn’t any violence in her tone, and what she said certainly isn’t incorrect.

Zoé searches Nate’s eyes, but before Nate has the chance to react, Sully chuckles in his beer, breaking the awkward silence.

Sam finds his smile again:

‘Touché,’ he just says, and Zoé smirks back.

Sully raises his glass:

‘To living the dream!’

\---

Elena interrogates Zoé the first chance she gets, when Nate, Sam and Sully are busy reminiscing about the same old stories.

Elena doesn’t know what to make of her. Zoé’s not really an old friend of Nate’s. He dated her briefly – back when he was an idiot. He then lost contact for years, until the day she called him about a job. It was a few weeks before Sam came back into his life: Nate recommended she go to one of his friends.

‘Nate told me you’re also searching for a ship?’

‘I found it, actually. Although it wasn’t lost. I just… needed to find its name.’

Elena wonders what Nate saw in Zoé. She shares Nate’s passion for history and cartography – they met in a museum, in Paris. And she’s not unpretty. But she’s so… “lifeless” comes to mind, but wouldn’t be fair. It’s just that Elena thinks about all the women Nate ever showed an interest in – that she knows of –, and they all have that… spark, that she doesn’t see in Zoé. The caustic comment toward Sam was the first hint that something else brewed under that apathetic shell.

‘You found a letter in your family’s archives, is that it?’ Elena asks. She asks, but she knows. That Zoé allegedly found the letter in her deceased grand-mother’s belongings. That the letter was dated from the early 19th century and looked fairly authentic. That the only clue as to who wrote it to whom was the mention of a ship departing from Singapore. And that Zoé was adamant to find the letter’s origins without letting anyone know she had it in her possession. That’s why she called Nate.

An intriguing story. But the cagey woman only answers with an evasive ‘Yeah...’

Elena attacks from another angle:

‘So, you’re going back to France?’

‘I don’t know... I mean, yeah, my visa expires in two weeks.’

A flash of distress seems to pass through Zoé’s eyes and Elena suddenly feels ashamed of herself. When she was a journalist, she knew how to handle uncooperative subjects, how to make them talk. And she realizes that’s how she’s been treating Zoé so far. The woman in front of her looks a few years younger. Above all, she looks lost. And Elena’s been treating her like a mystery to solve.

‘After a long time abroad, I often find it hard to go home.’ Elena says, softer.

‘Really?’ Zoé finally looks at Elena, really looks at her. Not with the half-away stare she’s been giving them all night.

Elena, like Nate, can’t stay in one place too long. That’s why settling in a comfy home in a comfy life in New Orleans was a mistake. A mistake that nearly destroyed their marriage.

‘Traveling changes you, I think. Some part of you anyway. Maybe it changes your idea of what home is.’ Elena offers.

‘I’m not sure I can call it traveling when I stayed in the same place for six months.’

‘In the same place, on the other side of the world. And six months is well enough time for a place to become a home.’

Zoé frowns.

‘Singapore isn’t a home. It’s a–-’ She pauses. She turns her gaze back to the river. ‘Never mind.’

Elena doesn’t push.

It’s a very happy time for her. She loves warm Malaysian nights, and here she is, in this charming bar, with Nate and Sully, with Sam, and with the joyous prospect of other "Malaysian" jobs.

It’s a very happy time for her, and when she looks at the river, she sees home in the street lights reflecting in the water, she sees home in the shophouses on the other side, she sees home in everything, as everywhere with Nate is home.

What does Zoé see when she looks at the river? Does she only see the darkness of the water? Elena has no idea, and she’s not sure she’s the one who should ask.

\---


	2. Ambushed

\-- 1 --  
Ambushed

 

Zoé shifts uncomfortably under Sam's gaze and sips yet another gulp of beer.

'Was Libertalia really a fraud?' She asks, reluctantly.

She has nothing to say to Sam, she doesn't even like him, yet here she is, stuck in Nate and Elena's kitchen with him.

When Nate suggested she'd visit New Orleans after Singapore (she may have sighed about the prospect of leaving the Southeast Asian climate for the European cold), she jumped at the chance, not ready to go home, not yet. Nate and Elena offered her their house in their absence, and she spent a great first week here, enjoying warm and lazy days of reading in the garden. Then Sam showed up.

Nate warned her beforehand: Sam would just be at the house for a few days, but he could totally find another place if that bothered her. Of course it didn't bother her, what else could she say? And she didn't mind Sam when he went about his business, whatever that was, but tonight he caught her in the kitchen, suggested they drink a beer together. She couldn't think of a way out.

There's no doubt in her mind that Sam could be an interesting man. He _is_ an interesting man: she heard a lot of his stories when they were in Malaysia. But she can't get over the fact that he plunders History for a living.

News of Libertalia's existence traveled fast after Nate and Sam's discovery and it took over the world, captivating historians and general audience alike, Zoé included. She had read everything she could on the subject and she could have counted herself lucky to share a moment with a direct witness of Libertalia's wonders. But she has no interest in conversing with a man who has no respect for history. Except that Sam keeps asking her personal questions she doesn't want to answer to and Libertalia suddenly seems like the perfect topic.

'A fraud?' Sam repeats. 'As in, did Avery and Tew once believe in a communist utopia or was it a scam all along?'

Sam ponders the question and for a moment, Zoé thinks she's too harsh in her opinion of him.

'We didn't really make time for historical inquiries...' He shrugs. 'But they were pirates after all.'

'What does that mean, they were pirates after all? Didn't pirates have a strong aspiration to equality?'

Sam shoots her an appreciative look and Zoé wonders if he's been testing her.

'We did see evidences of Avery's growing paranoia. It's possible he was sincere when he founded Libertalia, and then, that much gold... he wouldn't be the first to lose track of– to lose his mind over it.' A sudden smile lights Sam's face. 'I imagine you wouldn't have.'

Zoé stares at him, wondering what he means by that, but Sam chuckles at a joke he doesn't share and puts down his beer.

'Well, it has been a pleasure, but I have somewhere I need to be.'

She nods, relieved.

'To be continued.' Sam adds, and Zoé sure doesn't like the grin that follows.

\---


	3. Cat and mouse

\-- 2 --  
Cat and mouse

 

Sam is humming, chopping vegetables, when Zoé enters the living room.

'I'm making lunch, will you want some?'

'No thanks.'

She didn't give his question a second's thought. Sam smiles at his tomatoes and looks up in Zoé’s direction:

'Are you doubting my cooking skills?'

'I'm not hungry.' She casually answers, picking up her notebook on the coffee table.

She doesn't like him and doesn't even try to hide it: Sam can respect that. He even finds some amusement in it. But if he's right about what she’s holding against him, he wonders what she saw in Nathan.

He puts his knife down.

'Did you really date Nathan?'

Zoé freezes, Sam resists the need to laugh.

'We're not having this conversation.'

'Why not?'

'Why would we even have this conversation?'

'People who live together sometimes speak to each other, you know.'

Zoé frowns very seriously.

'We're not living together. You're only passing. And I– I am just passing too.'

Sam nods. She may think he's an intrusive ass, he may enjoy being an intrusive ass, but he believes they could be friends, if she wasn’t so obtuse. He recognizes something in her. Something that’s so much easier to contemplate in someone else. They’re both here for the same reason: they can’t go home.

'Yeah, but we still have a few days ahead of us.'

Zoé takes a step back.

'And it's a conversation like any other.’ Sam adds. ‘I can tell you about people I dated, if you want.'

There's this amusing look in her eyes, _why would I be interested in the people you dated?_ But she just says:

'You probably didn't date any member of my family.'

'You don’t have any sibling?'

'They're too young for you.'

And now she's going for the jugular. It's still the most personal thing she ever said to him.

'They're in France?'

She doesn’t answer immediately.

'Hong Kong.' Comes her reply, almost unsure.

He wondered if she was of Chinese descent. That her siblings live in Hong Kong doesn’t mean anything, but it's a start.

'Brother? Sister?'

'Half.'

Sam chuckles:

'One half of a brother and one half of a sister?'

'Yes.'

If Zoé still wants to run away, she doesn't look like she has the energy for it anymore. And that's no victory to Sam. He meant to tease her, not to hurt her. He should have known her family would be a sore point: Nathan told him she lost her mother recently, he didn't know when. Could it be the reason she doesn't want to go home?

'So, speaking of brother... you and Nathan?'

She frowns again – a good sign.

'I have to go.' She says.

'Sure. Books are certainly impatient beings.' He smiles, going back to his tomatoes.

Zoé exits the room silently.

\---


	4. Unlocking the Past

\-- 3 --  
Unlocking the Past

 

Zoé sleeps in Elena's office. Nate and Elena may have found her silly, but she didn't feel comfortable sleeping in their bed, invading their privacy. Much to the pleasure of Sam, who had no problem with taking over the main bedroom.

She still has the best room. Maps and books everywhere; she loves it. They're everywhere in the house too, alongside Elena's gorgeous photographs and Nate's lovely drawings. Clues to the happy life of a perfect couple.

They're not perfect, Zoé knows it too well, having slept with Nate when he was already married. He and Elena were separated, of course, but that fact didn't stop Zoé from being totally nervous when she got to meet the amazing woman. Although Elena was nothing but gracious to her. Only noting, from time to time, how fully aware she was of Nate's shortcomings, past and present. Elena is the perfect one.

Zoé used to think Nate was pretty great too. He _is_ great, but he's not the man she fell for.

She was so young then. Four or five years ago. A lifetime.

She counted herself so lucky then. Weren't it for his sprained ankle, he wouldn't have devoted two days of his time to her.

An adventure gone wrong, and he was stuck in Paris. She didn't know him for five minutes and she could already recognize his energy, his impatience. The impossibility to stay still. The frustration to have to. Weren't it for his sprained ankle, he would've flown to another city, another country, another planet. He gave her two days instead.

She didn't know him for five minutes and she already had a thing for his hands. His bandaged hands, gripping his crutches, when she held the doors for him at the entrance of the museum. His drawing hands, when she found him again in the exhibition, sitting on that bench with his notebook open. His talking hands, when they stopped for a coffee. His calloused hands on her thighs, when she invited him home.

She dreamt of traveling, and he had roamed the world. She loved History, and he had more anecdotes to share than any of her professors, back in college. More charisma, too. And he was funny, and he was kind.

He was also married, and immature, and a thief. She fell for an idealized version of him, she realizes that now. But he inspired her then. She booked a trip to Italy in the weeks following their encounter. She picked up her pencils again. She never called him back. Kind of hoped _he_ 'd call her. But really, she just counted herself lucky that he stopped in her life for two days.

How silly she was. Nate _is_ great. But not _that_ great.

 

Zoé sleeps in Elena's office. She knows now that the Nate she fell for never really existed. But his hands were all too real. His mouth, too. And that's not a comfortable thought to have in the bed he shares with his wife.

\---


	5. Brother's Keeper

\-- 4 --  
Brother's Keeper

 

Sam stares at Francis Drake's ring decoder. He shouldn't have come up here.

He's good at keeping thoughts at bay.

When he walks the corridors of this house, he doesn't think about how he wasn't there for Nathan's wedding.

When he travels with Victor, he doesn't think about how Nathan and Victor's relationship wouldn't be what it is if he had been there for his little brother.

Up here, when the room's treasures stare at him, he doesn't think about the adventures he missed.

Sure, these thoughts cross his mind from time to time, but they aren't what's gnawing at him.

He's happy that Nathan found Elena.

He wouldn't admit it to Victor – and it took a long time for him to get there – but he's grateful the old man took care of his brother.

Sam takes responsibility for his choices. It may not be the life he had dreamt of, but it's his life. Would he do anything differently, given the opportunity? He probably wouldn't even know how.

What gets to him though, is the idea that Nathan is out there, still living a life of adventures, and that he isn't in on it.

Elena is everything Sam could have wished for his brother, and more. But _she_ 's Nathan's family now.

He pockets the notebook he was looking for and opens the attic's trapdoor. He tucks the books under his arm and makes his way down to the house.

 

Zoé's in the garden, reading. That's what she does, all day, everyday, she reads. Sam's not even sure she's eating.

When he passes the French window to meet her, she looks up, wary as always.

'Found some old books that could interest you.' He puts them on the wood table and retreats back to the house.

'Thanks.' He hears her mutter when he grabs his beer on the kitchen counter.

\---


	6. Another round

\-- 5 --  
Another round

 

'I'm going out for some grocery shopping, do you need something?'

Cross-legged on the couch, Zoé tears her gaze away from her book. Sam is watching her from the corridor, ready to head out.

'I'm good, thank you.'

He hasn't talked to her in two days, and she's warming up to him.

Also, she seriously fell in love with his books. Or Nate's books. Books she could have only have dreamt of. Books she could only have read in restricted parts of restricted libraries. She's actually quite torn up about it: part of her couldn't be more excited, part of her wonders who those books actually belong to.

'What about a po' boy?'

'Huh?'

'I bet you still haven't tasted what Louisiana has to offer...'

'I'm okay.' She tries to shoot him a smile.

The best thing about those books: they're old. The greatest of them is actually a 18th-century take on 16th-century England. And if there's something Zoé loves more than history, it's historiography. She and Nate bonded over that in Paris. The exhibition they met in showcased dozens of ancient globes: she and Nate had marveled about how people's views of the world shifted over the centuries. Is Sam interested in historiography?

'I hear Singapore is a gastronomy's heaven?' Sam continues.

Zoé stares at him for a few seconds. She's so out of touch with her social self.

A little while before they met again in Malaysia, Nate visited her in Singapore. She had stressed so much about it, worrying about the catch-up conversation they'll have to have. But Nate wasn't really interested in talking: he wanted to walk, to climb, to see. He left her exhausted. But invigorated in a way. Friendship with Nate is easy, undemanding.

'I'm not really into gastronomy...' She replies.

She's been hostile with Sam from the start and she's a bit ashamed of that. For all his faults, he's been quite nice with her. She wasn't very open with Elena either, back in Malaysia. She's so out of touch with her social self.

She finds Sam intrusive, but is he just trying to be friendly? To show interest, to know her a bit more. Is that normal maybe?

'You're not really into gastronomy...' He nods. 'Or in food in general?'

She frowns:

'What's that supposed to mean?'

He raises his hands in peace:

'Nothing... just... you should eat sometimes.'

A wave of emotion suddenly wells up in her, and she turns her head away before he sees her tear up. Did he just show concern for her? She doesn't need his care. She grits her teeth and turns back to him:

'Why are you here?'

Sam's expression hardens:

' _Me_?' He scoffs. 'Why are _you_ here? How's New Orleans so far? Do you like the city?'

'Funny you should ask: I was promised a peaceful accommodation, but here I am, sharing it with a nosy roommate.'

Sam offers her an incredulous smile. He then nods, and actually bows:

'I'm sorry I'm not living up to the Drake's hospitality.'

He's out of the house by the time Zoé realizes how awful she was.

\---


	7. Heading Upriver

\-- 6 --  
Heading Upriver

 

'How's the kid?'

Sam chuckles, dropping the cigarette he had tucked between his lips. He's sitting on Nathan's porch with Marie, the next door neighbor.

'She's way too old to be your daughter.' He says, picking up his cigarette.

Marie's laughter illuminates her gorgeous face. He's a bit in love with her.

'Flatterer.'

Sam doesn't really know how old Zoé is (at least 30, surely) but he's sure he wasn't flattering Marie. She's a gorgeous woman. A funny woman. An incredible cook. Also, a happily married lesbian.

'How old are you?' He smiles.

She pushes him a little, but returns his smile.

'How is she?'

Sam lights his cigarette.

'You'll have to ask her, she refuses to talk to me.'

'What did you do?'

'Nothing! I just... whatever.' He shrugs. Zoé's a tiring girl. She isn't worth the effort.

'Whatever? Isn't she the point of you being here?'

Sam frowns.

'What makes you say that?'

'When Nate called, telling me a stranger would inhabit their house, he might have suggested that I'd keep an eye on her, should I have the opportunity. That was very sweet of-- what? What's that smile?'

'Nothing... just the idea-- Nathan can't even take care of himself, and he takes care of her?'

'I admit I wondered if Elena had a hand in this.'

'It's true she's the one who got the most out of Zoé in Malaysia.' Sam acquiesces.

'Anyway, when you arrived a week later, I assumed...'

He shrugs:

'Coincidence.'

'Sure.' Marie nods. 'I confess I had my doubts about anyone sending you to take care of a distressed girl.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Marie shoots him a knowing look.

'She's Nathan's ex!' He protests.

'I hear that didn't stop you before...'

'It was one time, I can't believe Nathan--'

When Marie bursts in laughs, he gets it:

'Nathan didn't tell you anything, did he?'

'Nope.' She laughs again. 'So... what about that one time?'

He shakes his head.

'I can't believe I fell for that.'

However, Sam wonders if this is part of Zoé's aversion to him. He hasn't been hitting on her in any way, but what does she know about his track record on the matter? She doesn't like that he's a thief. What else doesn't she like? Is she that uncomfortable, living under the same roof as him?

'So why are you here?' Marie continues.

That question again. He's not even sure he has a truthful answer for that question.

'I had business in Houston.'

A half-truth. One third of the truth. But he doesn't feel like telling Marie about how he's pretty much homeless. It's nothing he's ashamed of, but it's also nothing he can imagine explaining to anyone. How the very thought of a home terrifies him.

The front door of the house suddenly opens and Zoé appears in the doorway.

'Would you look at that...' Sam smirks. 'She's alive!'

Zoé frowns slightly, tightens her grip on the shoulder strap of her bag and smiles to Marie:

'Hi.'

'Tu vas bien ?' Marie asks in French.

'Yes, thank you.' Replies Zoé, even though she looks like she rose from the grave. Sam wonders if she talks in English for his benefit. Probably not. But he dated a French once, he knows the basics.

'Tu nous rejoins ?'

'I...' She looks hesitantly at Sam, and he marvels at that look. Is she seriously considering the possibility? Worse: is she asking him if he minds?

'Grab a beer in the fridge and join us.' He nods.

Zoé nods too, disappears in the house for a minute then comes back with a beer and sits with them.

'Où tu allais comme ça ?' Marie asks.

Sam hides his smile. Let's see if he's the nosy one...

'I read about a bookshop downtown, I was going to visit it.'

How easily did Zoé answer that? He can't help feeling a little vexed.

'Aren't the million books in that house enough?' Marie switches back to English.

'There's not such thing as too many books.' Zoé smiles. And she smiles to him too, what's up with that?

'Ah, she's one of you people.' Marie says to Sam. 'What are you doing for a living, back in France?'

'Nothing... Just working in a cinema. In a movie theater.'

'That's not nothing! That's cool!'

'I was just working at the... counter? Cashier? A la caisse.'

'Still cool.'

Zoé shrugs, going back to her uncomfortable self.

'Not every job has to be life-fulfilling.' Sam intervenes, trying to help.

'Doesn't it?'

She suddenly looks him right in the eyes and it leaves him quite speechless for a moment. What is happening? Is she asking him a personal question? Worse: a philosophical question?

'Sam's not the right person to ask', says Marie. 'I'm not sure he ever had a job.'

Zoé lights brightly at the quip and Sam doesn't even feel the need to retort, her large smile –the largest he's seen on her, even back in Malaysia– is worth the burn. His and Marie's eyes meet, visibly sharing the same thought.

He then goes on to list to them every shitty job he ever had, reaching back to when he was not even 16 and trying to amass enough money to buy a birthday present to Nathan. Marie too had her fair share of odd employments, and Zoé sometimes chimes in (she studied History in college, and worked summer jobs in the service industry) but mostly listens.

The next hour passes quickly, nicely, until Marie leaves them to meet Teresa. Alone with Zoé, the silence sets in, and Sam gets up too:

'I should let you go to the bookstore.'

She nods, but she doesn't move.

'There's a great one with rare books in the French Quarter. Crescent City, I think. They even got maps. Is this the one you read about?'

'I have a list. I'll probably visit them all.' She says.

She looks at him, but she doesn't look like she sees him. Should he let her wander like that in a city she doesn't know? But what is he supposed to do? Go with her? _Why are you here?_ Why is he still here?

He just nods:

'Good afternoon then.'

'Thanks. And thank you for the recommendation.'

'Anytime.'

She still hasn't moved when he enters the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from French:  
> 'Tu vas bien ?' --> 'You're okay?'  
> 'Tu nous rejoins ?' --> 'Will you join us?'  
> 'Où tu allais comme ça ?' --> 'Where were you going?'


	8. Small Beginnings

\-- 7 --  
Small Beginnings

 

She's not audacious, she never was, but lately, she's been afraid of everything. Even taking the bus to the French Quarter seemed overwhelming. So she just walked around the neighborhood until she found the riverbank, where she sat and tried to read for two hours.

She's been afraid of everything and the worst of it is: everybody saw right through her. From Nate and Elena and their fucking house, to the fucking neighbor whom she talked to for about five minutes. Through the open window of her bedroom, Zoé heard everything Sam and Marie said about her.

She's afraid, she's ashamed, she's angry. Mostly, she's stupid. Alone on the porch with Sam earlier, about to embark on her bookstores tour, she almost hoped he'd suggest to accompany her. How stupid is that? How hypocritical, given their previous encounter? She'd have declined anyway.

She anguished about that encounter last night. About how to make amends for her behavior. But she was too afraid to confront him directly, too afraid he'd even refuse to talk to her, so she seized the opportunity of Marie's visit. And Sam seemed to accept her company with grace. He's not as awful a person as she is. She despises this woman she's becoming. The woman she has become. She doesn't know who that woman is. Nothing in her life makes sense any more.

 

Sam's in the living room when she walks in. Watching a sports game, by the sound of it, and Zoé freezes in the doorway.

She bought him a po' boy, and that too is very stupid. Why would she do that? As a gesture of good will? Of apology? How could he not mock her?

_Would you quit being so fucking afraid all the time?_

She proceeds in the lobby with the coolest attitude she can muster.

'Hey! How was the hunt?' Sam asks casually when she enters his line of sight.

She goes straight to the kitchen, and carries on to washing her hands, buying a little more time.

'I didn't go to the French Quarter…'

'Oh?'

When she finally looks in his direction, Sam still has his eyes on the game – soccer, ugh. It makes things so much easier.

'… but I brought you back a po' boy.'

He immediately turns to her:

'You did?'

His smile brushes off the last shreds of her worry: she takes the sandwich out of her bag and brings it to him.

'Nice!' He nods in gratitude, but then frowns: 'You got one too, I hope? Or you tasted it on the way at least?'

'I wasn't hungry…' She replies, cursing herself for failing to lie.

Sam stares at her a little too long, until he smiles again:

'That's too bad for you…' He gets up, goes to the kitchen to pick up two plates and a knife in the dish rack. 'Now you'll have to share it with me.' He adds, cutting the po' boy in two.

Coming back to the couch, he puts down the plates on the coffee table.

Zoé hasn't moved, fighting the urge to run away.

'Come on...' Sam smiles gently, inviting her to sit on the couch. 'You bought me a po' boy, we're practically friends!'

'Not with that on TV.' She says, pointing at the screen, going for some levity she's not feeling.

Sam frowns:

'Huh. Did you just diss my favorite team?'

'No! I just…' She pauses when she sees the smile in his eyes. 'I just dissed soccer.'

'Wow.' Sam sits. 'Do you even realize what you're saying? I can't believe you're making jokes about soccer. With me! I'm sorry, but we're almost best friends now.'

Zoé sits down too, and pokes at the sandwich.

'I wasn't joking. I really dislike soccer.' She grins without looking at Sam.

'Still…' Sam bites in his half of a po' boy and shoots her a significant look. 'Best friends.' He adds, his mouth full.

'You wish.' She retorts, picking up her part of the sandwich.

\---


	9. Something better

\-- 8 --  
Something better

 

'It's good.' She says, in such a dispassionate tone, she couldn't possibly talk about food.

Granted, this isn't the best po' boy in New Orleans. Still, the girl has no respect for sandwiches. And the way she eats it, in such small bites, it's just wrong. She eats like… like she's never been hungry before.

He hopes she never has.

Sam's pretty good at reading people, and he's pretty sure he has a good read on Zoé. But why she's done a complete 180 on him today, he has no idea. Although she'll hear no complaint from him.

'We could watch a movie.' He suggests, after inflicting her twenty minutes of soccer.

'No, it's okay.'

How does one live a happy life always saying no? Sam imagines one doesn't: _happy_ isn't the word he'd use to describe Zoé.

'I could use a crash course on cinema.' He adds. 'I have a fifteen years gap in my culture, and I probably never even saw a French movie in my life.'

Zoé keeps staring at the TV screen, frowning.

'You don't need a culture, you just need to enjoy yourself.' She replies, almost aggressive.

'Sound good.'

It takes a second for her to realize he's waiting on her and she turns to him, baffled:

'You want _me_ to give you a crash course?'

'Well, I tried calling Steven Spielberg, but he's not in town tonight.'

Is Spielberg still a thing nowadays? Who knows.

'I'm not--'

'You are.'

She shots him a disapproving look, but a few seconds later, she asks:

'You're into Spielberg?'

'I don't know, he's the first who came to mind. Is he the one who did _Terminator_?'

'You like _Terminator_?'

'Yeah! I remember sneaking in the movie theater to watch the first one. And I bought tickets for me and Nathan for the second one.'

Zoé looks at him thoughtfully, and he suddenly feels self-conscious.

'Why? Do you hate it? Is it supposed to be a bad movie or something?'

'Why would that matter?' She asks angrily. Sam's good at reading people but he's quite taken aback by her sudden burst of anger. She seems to realize it and apologizes: 'Sorry, I… I love _Terminator_.' The way she's frowning, she could have meant the exact opposite.

As much as he'd loved to know what makes her tick, he's not her goddamn psychologist, so he drops the subject.

'So, if working in a movie theater is not your dream job, what is?'

She shrugs.

'What about you? Did you always set out to be a thief?'

He can't help a laugh. There she is again, self-defense mode Zoé. Although her expression softened, and he guesses her quip isn't meant as an attack.

Sam did walk the wrong side of law very early on, but he feels no shame nor regret about it. He set out to buy a good life for Nathan and himself and he did the best he could with what life threw at him. Actually, he's proud of it. But would he have gone to college given the opportunity? Well, what's the point in dealing with _what ifs_?

'Is it stealing if the owner's dead?' He grins.

Zoé scoffs at him, knowing full well he's teasing her. Her 'if you think I'm gonna fall for that' look brings him no small amount of joy.

'OK!' He gets up, clapping his hands. 'I'm gonna heat up yesterday's left-overs, will you want some?'

Zoé now looks confused. 'I…' She points to the last piece of her sandwich. 'I actually have only one stomach.'

'Who do you think you're kidding? You have one half of a stomach at best.' Retorts Sam, making his way to the kitchen.

As he opens the fridge to get the stir-fried noodles, he wonders if Zoé'll seize the opportunity to escape to her room.

He takes Nathan's wok out and puts it down on the hotplates.

'James Cameron.' He hears.

'Huh?'

Still fully seated on the couch, Zoé doesn't look at him.

'The one who did _Terminator_ … it's not Spielberg, it's James Cameron.'

Sam smiles and turns back to the noodles.

\---


	10. Sink or swim

\-- 9 --  
Sink or swim

 

Sam talks about Nate a lot. At first, Zoé thought nothing of it – Nate is the one thing they have in common after all – but one anecdote after the other, she began to wonder about Sam's life. About how it stopped for fifteen years while Nate's went on. About how it must have felt. About how it must feel. She knows fragments of his story, fragments she gathered in Malaysia and fragments from what he says sometimes. She only knows fragments, maybe she knows nothing.

After the po' boy night three days ago, they went their separate ways, but Sam insisted that they share a meal together at least once a day. Yesterday, and the day before that, it was lunch. Today, he knocked on her door at 4 p.m. and declared that it was time. Declared that it was his duty to get her to taste the best cheesecake in town. Sam's very serious about food.

 

Zoé is so full, she's not sure she'll eat for the next few days: the cheesecake was indeed excellent. Their trip downtown was also the perfect occasion to visit a few bookstores: today's a pretty good day. And Sam acts like a pretty good friend. But each time he mentions Nate, it kind of breaks her heart. Maybe that's why, waiting for the bus to take them home, she opens up to him:

'My siblings and I, we're not very close.' She doesn't even think of them that way. They're strangers to each other. 'I'm not sure we've met more than four or five times.'

Sam smokes beside her, he nods encouragingly.

'My father left when…' She stops – that's the angry teenager in her talking, that's not really how it happened. How absurd it is, to still hold on to her grudges, all those years later. 'My parents divorced when I was sixteen, my father left for Hong Kong, where he eventually built another life.'

'You never went to Hong Kong?'

'My father and I…' She spots the bus around the corner. 'Let's say we're not on speaking terms.'

Sam nods again.

 

He only speaks up when they get out of the bus, walking home.

'I knew we had a lot in common.' He says with a smile. Zoé realizes she's making a face when Sam's expression turns offended. 'Wow. Real nice.'

'I'm sorry!' She laughs, and he shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, but… but what do we have in common?'

'History, for a start.'

'Well… I'm still not convinced you love history.'

'I was loving history when you weren't even born!'

She scoffs – how young does he think she is?

'Loving history isn't the same as loving shiny artifacts.'

Sam shoots her an amused look:

'A man's gotta eat.'

Her quick retort dies on her lips when she remembers what she knows of the Drake brothers' youth. Not that golden. Not as golden as her own middle class background. A deprived childhood doesn't justify everything, but Zoé suddenly feels very self-conscious of the luck she never realized she had, taking history classes at university.

'What else do we have in common?'

He shrugs:

'Looks like your father's a jerk. Ours was too.'

'My father's not a jerk.' She protests straightaway.

Sam looks at her, interrogative, and she suddenly regrets she said anything about her family.

Nate and Elena's house is just a couple hundreds meters away.

'It's just…' She starts, nervously. 'You know, when you're angry for so long-- or, not necessarily angry, but when you're feeling something for so long, you know, you just can't imagine who you would be without that feeling?'

Sam chuckles, and shame shoots right through Zoé. Burning shame, then painful anger. Why did she even say anything?

'I'm not mocking you.' Sam adds quickly, touching her arm softly, but she's not looking at him. and quickens the pace. 'Zoé...' She can't stop, if she stops she'll fall apart.

Sam steps in front of her and make her stop. 'Zoé.' He repeats gently. He places both his hands and her shoulders, gently. 'I wasn't mocking you.' He searches for her eyes, gently. 'I know that feeling.' He says, and she believes him, but she can't stand his gentleness. She shakes her head and escapes his grip, almost running to the house.

She fumbles through her bag to find the fucking keys, she let herself through the fucking door and retreats to her room like a fucking weepy child.

\---


	11. Hidden in plain sight

\-- 10 --  
Hidden in plain sight

 

Sam is a liar – that's nothing new. But he doesn't usually lie to himself – that's also a lie. How does one survive year after year of incarceration without little lies of hope?

Lying on his bed, Sam watches the slow ascent of the smoke towards the ceiling.

He knew something was wrong with Zoé in their first few hours in Malaysia. He had asked Nathan about it, but his brother hadn't seemed to share his opinion: Zoé was supposedly a bit shy, a bit tired, a bit homesick.

Lying to Nathan, that's what she was.

Sam will never be as kind and generous as his brother – and he has no idea who Nathan inherited these qualities from – but he knows people. And people don't leave their life behind to run a fool's errand on the other side of the world without a very good reason. And Zoé certainly didn't look like she had found her true calling on an idiotic self-discovery pilgrimage. She had found a ship and it was not what she had been looking for.

How did he not see it right away?

There's a knock on his door and Sam sits up straight on the bed, startled.

'Come on in.' He calls as he gets up and opens the door.

'I'm sorry.'

'You have nothing to be sorry about.' He replies, gesturing for her to enter the room. She complies and makes a few steps inside, curiosity in her eyes.

'You've never been here?'

That she chose a mattress in Elena's little office over a real bed puzzled Sam when he arrived, but that she's never even set foot in the room… it seems like a miracle that she's not sleeping on the couch.

'This is not my home.' She just says. She moved over to the window and she's contemplating the view. He joins her to get the ashtray: Nathan specifically asked him to smoke at the window but it slipped his mind.

Zoé's eyes shift down to Nathan and Elena's wedding album. Sam hates that album, he closed it on his first day in the house.

He reopened it on the second day. Has he ever seen Nathan looking that happy?

'Did you love him?' Sam suddenly asks. Not the most subtle question. He remembers how Zoé reacted the first time he brought up her relationship with his brother. But they were not friends then – just a few days ago, he realizes.

'I could have, given the time.'

A couple of weeks after Malaysia, Nathan called Sam. Elena had learned Zoé lost her mother, Nathan had offered her to stay at their house, and Marie was a bit concerned her new neighbor never left the house. Since Sam was in Houston, since Sam had been right about her…

It had been the most absurd call. Sam couldn't care less about Zoé. Even if he did, he didn't see how sharing a house with a man she despised could make her feel any better. Still, he had no job lined up in the immediate future and why would he say no to free lodging?

He lied then. To Nathan. To Marie. Not to himself though. He was perfectly aware he had cared about Zoé since their first few hours in Malaysia. He had tried not to: that was Nathan's style, not his, to care. Even more so, to care about a distressed girl he had no desire to bed.

But why did he care? _That_ was the lie.

'Did Nathan and Elena tell you about how I almost destroyed their marriage?'

Zoé's astonished expression is all the answer Sam needs. He smiles:

'I did some terrible shit in my life but this one… And I'm not even sorry. Well, I am but…'

Zoé looks at him a bit confused, waiting for his story to make sense. But it doesn't make sense. Even for him, even for the selfish dick he knows he is. How easily he betrayed Nathan. How his mind was filled with nothing but ideas of treasure.

'I dreamed of Avery's treasure for so long.' Sam says in one long sigh. Memories flood his mind, memories of his mother he won't mention to Zoé. 'It kind of kept me... going. In prison. And when I got out, I trampled on everything to find it.'

'Nate and Elena's wedding?'

'Nathan's life.'

This is the thing Sam can't fathom, even as a selfish dick. Despite all his flaws, despite all the terrible shit he did in his life, Nathan's life was the one important thing. The only thing he'd go down fighting for. But in his Avery daze, Nathan's life was an afterthought. Well, the scar on his left arm proves the contrary, but who did really protect, at this moment? What idea of Nathan did he really protect?

Sam smiles again:

'I dreamed of Avery's treasure for so long…'

'You just couldn't imagine who you'd be without it.'

Zoé stares at him so intensely, he may never have felt so vulnerable in his life. A dreadful feeling.

It was never that conscious a thought, but Avery's treasure would have made everything right. He'd be young again. They'd be explorers again. The Drake brothers.

'What did you feel when you found it?' She asks, and he hears her voice crack, an awful sound, like the sound of his own heart breaking.

What did _she_ feel when she found her ship?

'Nothing.' He replies, and Zoé's eyes fill with tears.

Sam looks away. He can't stand her pain. He couldn't stand it in Malaysia, he still can't stand it now. And he gets it now. It's not his style to care, but Zoé's pain mirrors so perfectly his own.

It makes him feel a little better to know he's still a selfish dick.

\---


	12. Path of light

\-- 11 --  
Path of light

 

Keys jangle in the lock, front door opens, then closes. Zoé slowly wakes up, and by the time she's fully conscious, Sam towers over her, puzzled:

'Did I wake you?'

She sits up on the couch, a bit disoriented. Sam went to Marie's nephew's party last night – celebrating the signing with a record company or something – and she had declined the invitation. But sleep had eluded her, and she hadn't been able to focus on the book she was reading.

Sam smiles, arms crossed:

'If I knew your idea of a better night was sleeping in front of the TV, I would have tried to be a little more persuasive.'

Zoé eyes his crumpled clothes. He kinda reeks too. Of cigarette, of alcohol, and who knows what.

'Looks like you didn't need the company.' She teases him.

Sam's smile grows larger:

'There was plenty of interesting people: you could have lead your own after party.' He retorts, a bit smug.

'Yeah, right.'

One night stands have never been her strongest suit, and she isn't in the right mind to start anything else. That she has a friend now in this house certainly is an anomaly.

She had been in a bit of a relationship before she left for Singapore, but she had had no problem leaving everything and everyone behind. She had sent a few mails at first, then had grew distant, until she stopped replying. Even to her closest friends.

'This is yours?'

Sam's pointing at the coffee table, at the notepad displaying her sketches from last night.

Her heartbeat quickens, but she just nods.

How odd, to think that a few days ago, she would have desperately tried to hide the notepad from him. A few days ago, she would have panicked at the idea of him learning everything personal about her. Yet she cried in front of him last night. Past her shame, she can no longer find a good reason to hide anymore.

'Can I see it?'

'There's nothing to see.' She shrugs.

These days, she essentially draws to calm herself down. She sketched the characters of a bad TV show last night, and it made wonders to empty her mind.

'You mean there's not a single drawing of me in it?' Sam grins.

'Do you want me to sketch you?'

He looks at her, startled. Uncertain. Although it was a simple earnest proposition – she loved drawing people once –, she feels somehow pleased to know she can have that effect on him, when it has too often been the opposite.

'Let's not make any hasty decision before breakfast.' He deflects.

\---

Zoé can't remember the last time she was up that early in the morning. She never was a morning person, and working in a movie theater late at night didn't cure her tendencies to oversleep.

These last weeks, she found it hard to wake up, for sleep is a welcome relief from the mess that is her life.

This morning however, she feels good, almost. She feels light. Lighter.

Sam decided to hit the shower before breakfast and she's waiting for him in the kitchen. Coffee's brewing, and she's making pancakes.

'I didn't know you could use a frying pan.' She suddenly hears Sam's voice say. He's now looking over her shoulder, and he smells much better.

'There's a lot you don't know.' She retorts.

'Not for a lack of trying!'

She smiles with him, thinking about how intrusive he was when he first got here. She would answer his questions now, but he doesn't ask anymore.

Sam pours himself a cup of coffee.

'So, what else can you cook?'

Zoé turns off the hotplates and sets the last steaming pancake on the towering pile of them.

'I could have made kaya toasts if we had the right ingredients.'

'Kaya toasts?' Sam's face lights up. 'What's that?'

He grabs the pancakes plate and puts it on the kitchen counter, along with strawberry jam and honey.

'You didn't taste kaya in Malaysia? It's a kind of jam, made with coconut milk.'

'Ha, I'm not that fond of coconut.'

There's disappointment in his eyes, and Zoé chuckles:

'I didn't know there was food you didn't like.'

'There's a lot you don't know.'

Zoé grabs the cup of coffee Sam prepared for her, and wonders when he'll leave.

\---

Sam put his plate aside, and is now browsing through Zoé's notepad. He keeps on nodding approvingly, but doesn't say anything. At one point, he asked for her opinion on Nate's drawings, and when she expressed how much she liked them, he beamed like a proud mother.

Finally, he says:

'I don't know anything about illustrations, but they seem really good… Did you ever try to make a living out of it?'

'Why do people always ask that?' She retorts, a bit annoyed. 'Can't I just draw for the love of it?'

He shoots her an amused look:

'People probably think that you love drawing more than working in a movie theater. People probably want the best for you.'

Sam has a point, and that annoys her a bit more.

'I wanted to make cartoons when I was a kid.' She says, reluctantly. 'I was making some pretty basic animations with a few drawings.' A memory that almost brings a smile to her face.

'What happened to that kid?'

Her movie critic of a father happened. With the overbearing joy that her daughter would embrace the same path as him. With the snobbery of what good movies were and weren't.

She isn't fair. She can't blame her father for everything wrong in her life. And she earnestly loved History. She pours herself another glass of orange juice.

'Life. As it happens to every kid.'

'I wanted to be an explorer when I was a kid.' Sam smiles.

'Congratulations.' She smiles back, raising her glass to him.

Sam flips though another couple of pages and stops with a 'wow':

'Wow. This is…'

'What is?'

'You did draw me after all.'

He smiles and turns the notepad a bit for her to see birds flying on the page.

'Oh.' This one. 'I'm sorry.' She's somewhat embarrassed.

The day she met Sam, the collar of his shirt was hiding the base of his neck, and she had imagined his tattoo birds to be part of a larger design. That night in her room, she had first wanted to draw a tree but had then been carried away, throwing leaves and flowers and even more birds on the page, covering Sam's supposed shoulder, upper arm, and part of his torso.

The next day, Sam had showed up in a t-shirt revealing his true disappointing tattoos.

'What are you even sorry for? This is…' He still can't find the words and Zoé's incredibly flattered about it. If she's right about the look on his face. 'I'd count myself lucky to have this tattooed on me.'

She nods, trying to minimize the smile threatening to devour her whole face.

\---


	13. Broken paradise

\-- 12 --  
Broken paradise

 

'When will you… Do you know when you'll leave New Orleans?'

That question, at last.

He should have left already. He doesn't know why he's still here. But he's drinking a beer with Zoé in Nathan's garden and isn't _that_ a good reason?

'Tired of me at last?'

'I was tired of you the moment you set foot in this house.' Zoé replies earnestly, and he believes her. But the softness in her eyes warms his heart. That softness wasn't here when he set foot in this house.

Sam lets the silence settle between them. When they'll leave this house, he's not sure they'll see each other again. And he's not sure he minds. He likes Zoé and he likes hanging out with her, but the pain she brings out in him, he could do without. Sure, he's still here, but not for long. He should have left already.

'Do you have a home?' She suddenly asks.

For an uncomfortable second, Sam marvels at her question.

'I never thought I'd see the day where you would be the one asking intrusive questions!' He smiles.

He spots an apologetic glimmer in her eyes, quickly replaced by something fiercer.

'How does that feels?' She retorts. Fierce looks good on her.

'Like payback.'

Zoé laughs, and it is the greatest sound.

When her laugh dies, it's his turn to ask:

'What about you?' He hopes she gets that he didn't dismiss her question. He hopes she knows.

'For so long, I never thought about having a home.' She says. 'I realize now it probably meant I had one.'

Sam nods. Had he realized, before getting out of jail, that wherever he and Nathan were, that was home? Or had he taken it for granted?

'I… Do you…' Zoé starts awkwardly, seeking the right words. 'Did Nate tell you about why I was in Singapore?'

'An old letter, right? Found in your…' Sam's pretty sure she lied about the letter's origins. 'Your grandmother's belongings?'

'The letter was my mother's.' She confirms.

'And it mentioned a ship?'

Zoé looks away. She looks far away.

'My mother lived in Singapore for twenty years. That is, until she was 20. She then left for France, and never looked back. She barely even mentioned it. Or maybe I never listened…' Zoé frowns, Sam guesses she's angry at herself. 'My father always tried to-- Do you know that I learned Latin, and some Greek, and I even took Ancient Egyptian classes, but when it comes to the native language of my parents, I don't even…' She looks furious now. 'Do you know how much I know about some stupid obscure shit from European history? When I barely know anything about Asian history, let alone Chinese history! Do you know--'

She stops. She breathes. The tears in her eyes back away. Sam sits still in front of her, brokenhearted.

'Don't look at me like that.' She frowns again.

'Like what?'

'Like I need a hug or something.'

'Don't you?'

'What I need…' Zoé gets up. 'Is another beer.'

'Amen to that.' He says, raising his half full bottle, and Zoé toasts with him before going back inside.

Sam lights a cigarette. The sun has disappeared behind the house and the neighborhood is awfully quiet.

He suddenly feels utterly alone. He can't shake Zoé's sadness. Maybe he's the one in need of a hug. Maybe he'll call the singer from the other night.

\---

Zoé gets back with two bottles of beer, that she puts down on the table between them.

'How about something stronger?' Sam asks.

'What do you have in mind?' She looks at him with suspicion.

'I have music and I have sazerac. I bet you haven't tasted sazerac yet.'

'Actually, I have.'

'What?! When?'

'Back in France.'

'Then it doesn't count.'

Zoé crosses her arms, but amusement flickers in her eyes.

'Come on!' He insists. 'How can you say no to New Orleans music and New Orleans cocktails? It's just what you need!'

'What I need?' The frown returns.

'To let go for a night! Everyone needs to let go for a night.'

She gives him a knowing look:

'Yeah, right.'

'So you're coming?'

Zoé shakes her head, smiling.

'By all means, go.' She uncrosses her arms and grabs a bottle. 'I don't think you need me to catch a pair of green eyes...'

'A pair of green eyes?'

'That Russian tourist in Malaysia?'

'Ha. Yes.' It had been a good night. 'What if I help you catch a pair of green eyes?'

'I don't need a pair of green eyes.'

'It was a figure of speech: you'd obviously have the body to go with it.'

Her smiles grows larger.

'Another time, maybe.'

'I'll remember that.'

'I'm sure you will. Now go ravish a tourist or a clerk or who knows who.'

Sam makes himself laugh but doesn't move. He doesn't find in him the will to go out without Zoé. He stares at his cigarette and doesn't find in him the will to anything. He wants out, but doesn't want out. Mostly, he wants out of his head, but calling the singer would require an energy he doesn't feel anymore.

'Is your father from Singapore too?' He finally asks. Maybe the way out of his head is to peek in another head.

But Zoé throws a wary look his way:

'What are you doing?'

'I'm asking you a question.'

'Why aren't you on your way to booze and sex and music?'

'Another time maybe.'

She doesn't seem to like his answer one bit, but doesn't say anything.

'Why? You wanted to stay home alone tonight? Don't mind me if you want to fall asleep in front of the TV again!' He teases her, a bit cruel.

She stares at him for a moment, and he wishes she'd bite his head off.

'I don't need you to take care of me.' She says softly, catching him off guard.

 _You don't even know how to eat properly_ , he wants to tell her. He wants her to get angry, he wants to laugh at her expense, he wants… for her never to be hurt again.

'When did I ever take care of you?' He scoffs, liar that he is.

When did he not take care of her, since he's here? It's nothing short of absurd. Does she need him to? Maybe not – she did live well on her own, for six months alone in Singapore. Does she fare better since he's here? He has no idea. Maybe he's the one who needs to take care of her. Of someone.

She stares at him a bit more, fierceness in her eyes once again, then she sighs:

'My father's French. _Born and raised_ , as you say. But he'd hate to hear me say that. His grandfather was from Taiwan and that was important, this part of him. The few Chinese words I know, I learned from him. Reluctantly.'

'Not your mother?'

'I'm not sure I ever heard her speak Chinese...'

'She really did leave everything behind, huh?'

'That she did.'

It's not uncommon to Sam, people leaving everything behind. But then again, he knows a whole lot of criminals. And that's what's been eating at Zoé, he imagines, the idea that she never knew her mother. That she spent her life learning about history's mysteries, when she never bothers to wonder about her mother's past. Does her father know?

'If she left everything behind, why did she keep that letter?' He asks.

And where does that letter come from, he doesn't ask. Is that the answer Zoé really was looking for?

'That's the question, isn't it?'

The painful look she's throwing at him confirms his theories.

'Does your father know about the letter?'

Zoé doesn't answer right away, she gazes absently at the bottom of her bottle.

'You know what? I'm beginning to think that music and sazerac would be less unpleasant than this conversation.'

For the sadness in her words, there's a certain lightness to her tone, and Sam lets himself try a joke:

'That was obviously my plan all along.'

When she looks back at him, she smiles:

'You are a talented con man.'

'Thank you.'

He tries to smile, and from the joyous expression on Zoé's face, it's a convincing smile. He _is_ a talented con man.

\---


	14. End of the line

\-- 13 --  
End of the line

 

Something's not right with Sam. Or maybe she's imagining things.

Last time they talked was at that bar he dragged her in. It had been a fairly good night: Sam had flirted with a few patrons, but hadn't ditched her for any of them. That was three days ago.

She crossed path with him in the living room the day after. He had just hung up the phone, had smiled to her, threw her a 'Nathan says hi!' and exited the house. That was two days ago. She hasn't seen him since.

He's around though. He left her a note on the kitchen counter this morning, inviting her to eat the spaghetti he stored in the fridge.

He's just out a lot, like when he first got here, and he seems to move around the house when she's not looking. Is he avoiding her?

The enticing smell of the neighbors' barbecue enters through the open window and Zoé feels her stomach protest with envy. Thinking about those spaghetti in the fridge, she puts her pen down and gets out of her room.

 

Sam's home.

There's light coming through the bottom of his door. Thanks to the neighbors partying outside, Zoé can't discern any sound from the other side. She stands on the threshold, irresolute.

If he's avoiding her, she has nothing to say to him.

If something’s wrong… Aren't they friends now? Even if they're not, she feels like she owes him. Sam reached out to her when she didn't know she needed someone to hold on to. She still doesn't know who she is, she still doesn't know where she's going, but being alone isn't necessarily how she's going to get out of her mess of a life. Sam made her realize that somehow. She owes him for that.

Hell, never mind what she owes him, she cares about him.

She knocks on his door, and has no time to regret it, he's in front of her, door's open, in a second.

'Hey.' He greets her, unfazed. 'What's up?'

Zoé doesn't look at him, her eyes are all over the now tidy room, her eyes are on the bag on his bed.

'You're packing.' She says.

'I'm leaving tomorrow.' He replies, putting his hands in his pockets, stepping away from the door.

When did she stop hoping he'd leave as soon as possible?

'Sully called this morning.' Sam adds.

Zoé can't help but feeling the timing's off.

'Where are you going?' She asks, taking a step in the room.

'You don't want to know.' He smiles.

Everything about this feels off.

She sits on the bed:

'I did ask, didn't I?'

Sam stares at her for a moment, baffled, then the smile returns:

'Do you want to come working with us?'

'I'm sorry, I think I heard you say 'work'?' She mocks.

Sam chuckles.

'We're going to Nigeria.' He sits besides her on the bed. 'You'll be glad to know the person who hired us is Nigerian.'

Zoé scoffs, ready to retort, but ultimately drops the subject, not wanting to argue with him on their last night under the same roof. Then again, did Sam really plan to leave New Orleans without telling her? Would she have found his room empty tomorrow?

'When will you go back to France?' He asks all serious, after a few seconds of silence.

'Who knows.' She shrugs.

She's thinking about their pseudo friendship. Whatever they shared in that house, she had an inkling it couldn't last beyond the frontiers of New Orleans. Like a bubble in time and space. Turns out, it didn't even last within the walls of this house.

'You should go to Hong Kong.' Sam says suddenly, out of nowhere.

She gets up, a sudden wave of cold anger crashing inside of her. Hong Kong? How does he even dare?

'You know what, Sam? It's a shame to realize only now how fucking funny you are.'

Sam gets up too, raising his hands in a seemingly appeasing way:

'That's not…' He stops for a second, and she sees in his eyes the moment where he gives up. Her anger recedes as quickly as it rose up. Sam sighs, lowering his hands. He grabs his cigarettes in the back pocket of his jeans and fiddles with the pack for a minute.

'What's wrong?' She asks softly.

He finally takes a cigarette, tucks it between his lips.

'Nothing's wrong. Everything's great.' He mumbles.

He lights it and turns away from her.

'Did Sully really call?'

Something shakes his shoulders. A smothered laugh, probably.

'I called him.'

He goes around the bed, to the open window. He continues to smoke in silence, his back to her. There's something heartbreaking about it.

Zoé wonders how he did it. How did he reach her when she had so clearly turned away from him at first? How can she return the favor?

'Elena's pregnant.'

Sam's words fall in the room like a death sentence.

Elena. Pregnant. Was that Nate's phone call two days ago?

Maybe it _is_ a death sentence for Sam. A coup de grace, for the relationship he hoped to find with Nate when he got out of prison.

Couldn't it also be a new beginning? An opportunity for him to take on another place in the Drake-Fisher family? But it's so much easier for her to see that than it must be for him.

'You'll make a great unc…'

'Don't.' Sam cuts her off. 'Don't… do that.'

'Do what?'

'Treat me like I need a hug or something.'

'Don't you?'

Sam finally turns back to her, sniggering:

'And what if I needed it? You'd hug me? _You_?'

Zoé considers the question for a few seconds, then replies:

'Probably not.' She smiles.

A sudden grin lights Sam's face:

'I knew I liked you.'

'I still don't.'

'You love me.' Retorts Sam in all his smugness.

'I can't wait to have this house all to myself again.'

'You'll miss me.'

'I'll maybe miss your cooking.'

The repartee brings a larger smile to Sam's lips:

'Fair enough. One last meal, then?'

\---


	15. Epilogue

\-- Epilogue --

 

'You're gonna cry?'

'You wish. You?'

'I might.' Sam confesses, making Zoé laugh.

She accompanied him to the airport, wanting to purchase her own ticket home – her visa expires next week. Now they stand awkwardly in front of the security screenings and what can they do but joke?

He actually has a few things he wants to tell her. Mostly, he wants her to take care of herself, but isn't it time he quit this big brother act?

'Did Nate tell you when they'll be coming home?' She asks. 'I assume they are coming back?'

'Who knows.'

He doesn't. He stopped listening to Nathan after 'Elena's pregnant'.

Did he even congratulate them?

'Will you come back?' Zoé asks again.

What is she asking?

Does she see right through him?

Sam dislikes Nathan and Elena's house very much. As an inn – the way he and Zoé used it – it is a great house. But as Nathan's home, as this terrible picture of domesticity, yeah, he hates it. And he's not proud of it. All he ever wanted was for Nathan to be happy, and to realize that he didn't want Nathan to be happy _that_ way makes him feel pretty shitty.

But what he feels when imagining the house filled with a baby's cries is next level shitty. He can't bear the thought.

'I'll come back when you'll go to Hong Kong.' He retorts, a bit unkindly.

'That's a deal.'

'What the... Did you just… Did you just trick me?''

Sam stares at Zoé, who looks nothing but innocent.

'You were the one suggesting it, I just agreed.' She points out.

He stares a bit more, still baffled, until Zoé can't fight her amusement any more.

'Wow. I'm… I'm so proud right now.' Sam smiles, putting a hand on her shoulder, and Zoé laughs again.

When he lets go of her, awkwardness strikes once again. He should go.

'Will you go back to the movie theater?' He asks instead.

'A girl's gotta eat.' She shrugs. Sam frowns, but she adds: 'I was wondering about going back to school too…'

'Animation?'

'Chinese.'

He nods, quite happy about that idea.

'You should do something about your art skills, though.'

A large smile lights her face.

'Thank you.'

Sam dismisses her thanks with a hand gesture and throws a look at the security screenings. He should go.

When he turns towards Zoé again, he finds he has nothing to say to her any more.

'Do you… need a hug or something?' She asks brightly.

'I might.'

She kinda shifts towards him, almost imperceptibly, but moves no further, looking uncertain.

'Come here.' He finally says, embracing her in a long overdue hug.

When she hugs him back, he remembers her face when he arrived in New Orleans, and he smiles in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading me. <3  
> Fics with original characters are often the first thing I'm looking for when I'm searching for fics, and I have loved every OC I encountered in _Uncharted_ fandom. If you know any good _Uncharted_ fics with OC, please send them my way. :)


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